The Back-Porch Blues

The moon

Lights the sky

A half-frosted

Chocolate cake.

Wicker against

Bare shins,

Bone against brick.

I sat poised

with notebook,

work the slippery

print of gel pen

into a flurry

of fuzzy firefly,

blood-drop

of mosquito.

I want most

To commemorate

Something,

Become something

Outside myself

For a while

But tonight

The java has

Turned my brain

Into skittish text,

Uncomprehensible.

The cars spin

Across the highway,

bright-eyed and
soft moth-winged,

Voiceless and noisy.

I am hungry

For wine and pretzels,

For soft hands

And strawberry lotion,
for classic music,
someone else's
face to fall into.

Right now

There’s only me

And the quiet sounds

Unseen things

Alive in the grass,

Unsaid words

Thrown across

The porch like

Friendless widows

And my candles

Are burning into

A spiderweb mass

Of melted wax.

I need to sleep,

I need to keep

Reading about the

Magic lives of

Girls in the

Chick lit novels.

I need to spin

The wheels of thread

For my daughter's dress,

The oven clock

Is ticking like

A death perch

Across the upcoming

Day and all I really

Want right now

Is to turn

this piece of town

Into a train-station,

A parkway,

A piece of sky

With too many

Hanging moons

To ever count,

To be in the vast,

Sparkling, timeless

Innuendo of too

Many disappearing

Pieces of starlight

To ever again feel

Such a thing

As 2am loneliness,

The sun rising

Across sleepless eyes,

Biscuits burning,

The surprise of

Someone else leaving,

Taillights fading

Into the dark

On a night

Not unlike this one.

written for a prompt at dVerse.